Facing The Past
by Nocturniquette
Summary: Sherlock read the note in his hand. "Mycroft should have protected you better." The next thing he was aware of, was agonizing pain and someone screaming his name...
1. The End Or The Beginning?

Summary: Sherlock read the note in his hand. _"Mycroft should've protected you better." _The next thing he was aware of, was agonizing pain and someone screaming his name.

BBC universe. Slight John/Sherlock but so miniscule you can overlook it if you want. **THIS IS RATED M FOR A REASON FOLKS. THIS HAS BLOOD AND VIOLENCE AND BAD LANGUAGE IN IT. NOT YOUR CUP OF TEA? THEN DON'T DRINK FROM THE CUP, SAVVY?**

**Disclaimer: I thought about it, but I'm pretty sure I already did it. But I have no proof that I actually did it. Does that mean I did it?**

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**(Thirty Hours Later, ****Mario's**** Bistro, 12:10 p.m.)-Chapter 1: And Things Get Interesting...**

Sherlock walked at his usual fast pace to his favorite restaurant, Mario's Bistro, with his roommate, John Watson, not far behind. It was a cold and dry day, just a little after noon. It was the lunch hour, so there were quite a few people coming and going along the street and in their cars on their way home or to a cafe for a much needed break. Sherlock was in the middle of a case with Lestrade, who had asked for his help with it that very morning.

Apparently, an affluent couple very near the Palace had been found murdered, and there was hardly any evidence of why they were killed or who had done the foul deed. Or so Anderson had said. Still though, the media was hounding Lestrade and his precinct for answers, as was the Queen's guard. They all wanted to know who had done this crime and why. Preferably sooner rather than later. They had heightened security at the Palace almost immediately after the attack. Lestrade had brought in the consulting detective as he needed answers, and he needed them yesterday.

Sherlock had been at the scene with John and had gone around touching things and grabbing things seemingly at random, but both Lestrade and John knew there was a method to Sherlock's particular madness.

He had determined that the double homicide was done by a professional hitman; it wasn't a random killing like Sally thought, or a burglary gone awry like Lestrade thought.

"What proof do you have?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock had then knelt down close to the bodies and examined the extensive damage done to both of the murder victims.

"See these stab wounds here?" he said. "These were designed to inflict the most pain possible, but not kill." "And the ones here," Sherlock said and lifted up the dead man's arm, exposing the wrist area.

"These were not what killed him."

"Then what did?" Sally Donovan asked, a small sneer on her face.

Sherlock sighed to himself, as if explaining things this elementary should've been beyond him. "The cuts were made to inflict the most pain as they possibly could. They didn't bleed to death and they weren't shot since there are no shell casings. But they do have petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes. They were suffocated." he said and looked around a bit more before he spotted what killed the couple.

He strode across the room, ignoring everyone present as he carefully picked up the murder weapon. It was a torn plastic bag.

"Look in the mouth. You will find plastic in their throats. That is what killed them." he said and held up the bag.

Anderson opened his mouth, but Sherlock beat him to it. "I don't care for what you have to say Anderson, as I'm sure it's very dull and has no bearing on the reason I'm here. Lestrade, I'm sure you have this well in hand. I'll be on my way. Let's go John." he said and exited the posh mansion and away from the crime scene.

John had to run a little to catch up with his friend. "Were they really killed by a professional hitman?" John asked curiosity glossing his words and his eyes.

Sherlock nodded. "Whoever did this crime was very angry. They were searching for information. I don't think the couple gave it to them, which is why they suffered before they died."

"Do you know what they were searching for?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Not yet." he said. John knew from the expression on Sherlock's face that he had several working theories. And John knew that they were going to run down those "working theories" until Sherlock found out why the couple were killed like they were.

John sighed. Then his stomach rumbled. "Could we grab a bite to eat first? I'm famished." he said. Sherlock nodded, distracted. They headed toward their favorite little food joint, Mario's Bistro.

Which is where they were now after a twenty minute brisk walk and a half hour taxi ride. Apparently the posh neighborhood they were in didn't have the need of taxis like the middle class.

John stepped inside and found that Sherlock was not at his side. Sighing in annoyance, John stepped outside and found Sherlock looking up toward the sky, a pensive frown marring his handsome features.

"Are we going to eat sometime today, or are we going to stand out here and look at the sky?" he asked, hands on his hips.

Sherlock nodded. "Thought I saw..." he said and turned to look at John who was still staring at him. "Never mind. Let's go in." John nodded, satisfied.

Before they could enter, a little girl ran up to Sherlock and tugged on his long dark trenchcoat, halting him midstep.

He turned around and stared down at the child, his head cocked to the side.

"Yes?" he asked.

The little girl with blonde pigtails took a small slip of paper from the small pocket on her jean dress and held it up to him.

"Sir, you dropped this back there." she said smiling up at him.

Sherlock looked down at the paper then around at his surroundings, before finally settling his gaze on the little girl again.

"I'm afraid you've been mistaken. I've dropped no such thing."

The girl was already shaking her head before Sherlock had even finished his sentence.

"I saw you drop this. It fell out of your pocket. Please take it back." she said and her little blue eyes widened impossibly, making them appear twice as large as they should've been. Sherlock knew that look. He had tried it several times himself when he'd been a child. Of course Mycroft hadn't been fooled. And he still got in trouble for dissecting that cat...

It was clear the little girl had been given the note, but by whom?

He took the note, but stopped the little girl from leaving. He knelt down to her level and looked into her eyes. "Can you tell me who gave you this note?" he asked politely.

The little girl shook her head. "I can't. The man said not to."

"Does this man have a name?" he asked. "I don't know. He never said. Can I go now?" she asked.

Sherlock nodded and watched as the blonde girl ran down the street and out of sight.

"So what's the note say?" John said impatiently having seen the entire exchange. Yes, he was curious, but he wanted to eat first before they followed up on this strange note and mysterious man. And knowing Sherlock like he did, he was sure they were gonna skip another meal just to chase down a lead. He resigned to himself to another day without food at the appropriate time.

Sherlock didn't answer him. He unfurled the note and read the single sentence typed on it.

_"Mycroft should've protected you better."_

The consulting detective looked up, the note still clutched within his fist.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

John watched as his friend jerked once, twice, three, and then four times before falling to the pavement, a red puddle forming beneath him almost instantaneously.

"**S****HERLOCK!****!**"

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And that concludes Chapter One folks! This is my first fanfic into the Sherlock Universe and well...I hope it was at least interesting and the characters weren't too ooc. Argh! I should be updating my Teen Titans fic, not publishing a new story! But this got stuck inside of my head and not even a q-tip would dislodge it lol. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the story so far!


	2. And So It Begins

**Welcome to Chapter 2 of Facing The Past! Hope you all enjoy it!**

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**(24 hours earlier, Stryker Prison, Great Britain, 9 a.m.)**

The prisoner's cell was dark. It was dimly lit by a swinging light fixture fixed to the cracked and crumbling ceiling above him. He had no windows, so no natural light source was to be had. He cared naught for the annoying sound the coiled metal rope attached to the light made as it swung to and fro. His gaze was affixed to the small picture pinned loosely to his wall with a piece of tape. The picture was small, and well-worn, as if the person who handled it had folded it and re-folded it many times over.

It was a picture of Mycroft Holmes.

The man had long since gotten over the red haze he experienced whenever he saw the picture. Afterall, he'd be in here for the rest of his life. Or so the rest of the world thought. No...no he was gonna get out soon...and when he did, Mycroft Holmes would rue the day he had ever betrayed him...

The man with brown hair and greying temples with dark chocolate eyes sat upon his bunk, thinking of the glorious revenge he'd exact when he did get out.

And then a loud bell sounded, right before his cell door opened.

Oh he would have his vengeance...but not before he got himself a little time in the yard...his plan was almost complete...

Soon...

He grinned evilly at the thought of sweet vengeance...

**(17 hours later, Stryker Prison, Great Britain, a little after 2 a.m.)**

He was waiting. Had been waiting all day for this. Once a month, the Warden of the prison talked to the prisoner's face-to-face, through plexiglass. He evaluated them and wrote down how the prisoner's reacted to certain questions, and how the prisoner's conducted themselves during the interview. Sure it was late, (he could feel it in his bones), but the Warden had never really much cared what time he called for an interview with an inmate. Apparently, he didn't care if he angered the murderers locked up in his prison. Sooner or later, the man would learn the hard way...

Aidan Flynn, 36 of Surrey, was to be his next interviewee. His plan wouldn't take place until after the interview was through. Then and only then, would he be able to break free. That was the only time when he was under a single guard escort. He'd have to kill the guard quickly and take his clothes. He would then have to dispose of the body in the laundry shoot. His...associate should be down there now to take care of things. After that, he would head toward the entrance and using his fake id, be able to get out before anyone suspected anything.

He wasn't worried about the other man. His associate wouldn't rat him out. The man was too afraid of him. Besides that, if he did get caught because the other man snitched, then he'd be put right back into the same prison he was at. The redheaded man knew that. And he also knew that he, Aidan Flynn, wouldn't hesitate to kill him if he saw him.

So no, he wasn't concerned with betrayal.

He nearly smiled when the guard that was coming down the hall stopped right at his cell. "Up and at 'em Flynn. Warden wants to talk to ya."

Aidan got up as instructed, and waited back against the wall as the guard opened up the door and ordered him out.

He stepped in front of the guard, and walked through the halls, toward his interview, and toward his freedom...

**(18 hours later, Stryker Prison, Great Britain, a little after 3 a.m.)**

Finally the interview was over. The Warden hadn't told him anything he didn't already know himself. He had been convicted of capital murder a few short years ago, and had been given life without the possibility of parole. He knew the Warden would never put him on the list of those wanting to be released for good behavior, and frankly, he wasn't concerned in the slightest. Afterall, he had his own plan to get out. Who needed the justice system when you could just walk out the front door?

After a small eternity, Aidan was removed from the room and escorted down a long hall with just the one guard. His hand twitched. He clenched it tightly. He had to be patient. Just around this corner...

Once they had turned around the corner, Aidan eyed the laundry shoot and then the camera at the end of the hall. He watched as the camera moved toward the right and stayed put in that position. Now was his chance.

He suddenly attacked the guard with a well placed elbow to the chin, knocking the surprised guard to the ground and stunning him momentarily. Grabbing the needle thin shiv from his pants, Aidan wasted no time, and stabbed it into the man's carotid artery.

The man gurgled helplessly, blood spilling everywhere. He didn't wait for the man to die before he began stripping him of his clothes. Donning them a few seconds later and taking the man's handgun, he scooped up the now dead guard and dumped his body unceremoniously into the laundry shoot.

He ignored the wet patches on the guard's uniform as he strode toward the entrance.

The mounted camera on the wall didn't return to it's position.

Once free of the hallway, Aidan and his new uniform, along with his new fake id attached, strode confidently toward the entrance, keeping his head down slightly, so the other guards couldn't see his face beneath the dark blue cap he wore.

He finally saw the entrance and walked quickly over to the door, sudden nervousness overcoming him.

"Long night huh?" A voice behind him asked.

Aidan nodded.

"Heading out? " Aidan nodded again.

"Could you pick me up some food for me? I can't leave for another hour or so and I'm starving. I'd really appreciate it." the man said and drew closer.

Aidan forced his hands to remain where they were. If he killed this guard now, the jig would be up and he would be done for.

Aidan nodded and turned around, making sure to keep his head down.

He held out his clean hand and watched in slight amazement as the brunette guard handed him a 10 pound note.

"Keep the change, but don't forget the food okay? Anything's fine, just as long as you bring me back something." the young man said and moved away. Aidan watched him with hooded eyes as he went back into the center of prison, never once looking back.

He blew out the long breath he'd been holding, turned around, pocketed the money, and withdrew the security card he'd stolen from the guard.

He slid the card through the reader and waited with bated breath.

The red sign on the reader suddenly turned green, and the door unlocked and opened automatically.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Aidan Flynn walked out of Stryker Prison, a free man.

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**(12 hours before Sherlock's shooting, 3:47 a.m., Great Britain)**

He had done it. He had escaped from Stryker Prison. In a guard's uniform no less. He laughed at the irony. But that didn't mean he could afford to be lax. No, he had to stay alert and he had to get information.

Staying alert would be harder than gathering the necessary intel he needed; he already knew where to go for that. Right now he decided to spend the 10 pound note the guard had given him to purchase a ton of those 5 hour energy bottles he'd heard so much about. Hopefully they would keep him awake long enough for him to fulfill his duty then leave Britain behind.

He knew it was only a matter of time before the alarm sounded at the prison, but he hoped he could get further away before they sent out patrols.

He entered the small convenience store, still in his stolen uniform and cap.

"Hello officer. What can I get ya this morning?" the clerk asked.

Aidan pointed toward a small stack of the energy drinks.

"I'll take all of those." he said in a deeper voice that wasn't his own.

"All of 'em? Well alright." the clerk said casting him a curious look. He didn't pry however, and Aidan was secretly grateful. He'd hate to leave such an obvious trail behind him for the cops to pursue.

"That'll be $9.75 please." the clerk said. Aidan handed over the ten pound note. The clerk handed him the change, and Aidan didn't wait around. He left soon after and darted into a back alley. He opened up one of the bottles and downed it's contents.

'Not bad...though the taste could be better.' he thought. He didn't stay there and wait for the caffeine to hit his system. Instead he made his through the back alley's, criss-crossing across roads for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only about forty minutes. He came upon a posh neighborhood; the ones filled with large underground swimming pools, jacuzzi's, fun parks, and corrupt politicians.

He, however, was not there to stare in wonder at the pretty neighborhood. He was here to get intel. And he knew just where to go to get that info...

David Sciory. An older man who used to work directly for Mycroft Holmes. Aidan knew for a fact that the old man kept up with the latest gossip within the government, and so would know where to find Mycroft at any given time.

It was time to set his revenge into motion...

He stealthily made his way up to the grand mansion, knowing instinctively where the old man would hide his spare key and thus, where his security would be.

Dodging the patrols proved a simple task. Getting into the securely shut mansion, proved a tad tougher. He eventually succeeded.

He knew the man would be sleeping at this hour along with his wife, Annabelle.

He had nothing against her, but he knew she would have to die today. She could recognize him by sight alone as could her husband, so regrettably she had to be disposed of.

Shaking his head, Aidan concentrated and leapt onto the lower balcony, where the first floor was. He waited patiently for any alarm to sound and smiled when there was nothing but silence.

Getting into a crouch, Aidan gently and slowly opened the balcony door with the spare key and slipped inside.

Now...now it was just a matter of getting what he wanted from old man Sciory.

It took a bit of fighting and threatening, but eventually Aidan finally managed to get David Sciory tied to a chair, thanks to his lovely wife Annabelle.

He securely tied her to her own chair, and grabbed one from the dining room table himself.

He sat down and looked at the pair.

Annabelle was clearly scared out of her wits. She had no idea why he was here, nor did she know what he wanted. Like he said earlier. He'd regret having to kill her. She was such a sweet lady too...

"What do you want Flynn?" David spat, blood oozing down his chin and dripping onto his pajama shirt.

"What I want David is information."

"I'll never tell you anything!" he said, his green eyes narrowed into angry slits.

Annabelle whimpered through her gag. Aidan ignored her for the moment.

"No? And here I thought you'd be overjoyed to see me." he said sarcastically, tapping his copper crusted shiv against his hand.

"I'll be overjoyed when I see you in the electric chair," David spat, his voice full of derision and hate.

Aidan, though, merely shrugged at the display of anger.

"I want information on Mycroft Holmes. I know you know where he can be found." Aidan said and twirled his impromptu weapon in a slow arc.

"Mycroft? I have no idea where the man keeps himself these days." David said.

'Really? Would you mind swearing that on your wife's life?" Aidan said lightly.

"You bastard! You touch my wife and I'll-"

"You'll what, David? Kill me?" Aidan said and threw back his head and laughed.

Annabelle whimpered again through her gag.

"See, David? Even Anna agrees with me. Now tell me what you know of Mycroft, and I'll spare her any pain."

David looked at his wife for a long moment, before returning his cold gaze back to Flynn's chocolate eyes.

"No." he said quietly, but firmly.

Aidan stared at him before sighing heavily. He turned his eyes toward the frightened woman in the chair next to David.

"You can thank your husband for this," he said and slashed her in the chest.

She screamed through the gag, tears falling down her cheeks.

The cut wasn't deep, but it was long and it hurt like hell. It would bleed for a couple of minutes, but it wouldn't kill her. Yet.

"Anna!" David shouted and attempted to move toward her. He barely succeeding in making his chair move the few scant inches it had.

Aidan sighed again.

"I can do this all night David. Tell me of Mycroft and I give you my word that there will be no more punishment for your wife." he said, trying to compromise.

David Sciory was not man who compromised at the best of times. He sure as hell wasn't going to cooperate with this murderer now. The information he held was worth more than both their lives. He closed his eyes briefly, asking Annabelle silently to forgive him for what he was about to do to her.

"I can't do that." David said, and looked away when he heard his wife scream through her gag once again.

"Mycroft David. Mycroft is all I want." Aidan tried again.

"No." David said, voice full of conviction.

Aidan stared at him, some part of him in disbelief. "You would rather see your wife die before you then give me the intel I want?" he asked, brown eyes searching David's green.

David nodded wordlessly. Beside him, Annabelle started to cry in earnest, her mouth forming soundless words around the gag in her mouth.

"As you wish Mr. Sciory." Aidan said and set about making a bloody mess of Annabelle. Before long though, she stopped moving and her head bent forward so it was laying on her chest.

"Anna! You killed her you murdering psychopathic son of a bitch!" David yelled and strained against his bonds.

Aidan shrugged. "If you had just given me the information when I asked for it David, she wouldn't even be in this position. The only person you have to blame here is yourself."

"I will never you tell you a damn thing, scum!" David said through gritted teeth.

"Oh really? Perhaps a bit of pain will loosen your tongue?" Aidan said viciously and cut the man in the chest, reminiscent of Anna's earlier cut.

David grunted, but said nothing. Aidan knew that the other man would be a tough nut to crack. But crack him he would. He wanted that info...and he was going to get it. By any means necessary...

After a few more slashes, Aidan stepped back and observed the other man silently.

"Ready to talk now David?" Aidan asked, tilting his head toward the side, quite like a puppy would.

"Screw...you...asshole..." David gasped.

"Suit yourself." Aidan said and cut him a few more times. And then a few more times after that, just to be spiteful.

"Sherlock." David gasped.

"Aidan leant forward, being careful not to get too close. He may have tied the old man up securely, but that didn't mean David was incapable of defending himself completely. He had, afterall, worked for Mycroft in the government. The old man likely knew some tricks. Best to be safe than sorry.

"Sherlock Holmes...Mycroft's brother..." David said, hanging his head. He was getting up in years and his body couldn't hold out like it had used to long ago. He silently prayed for forgiveness.

"Mycroft has a brother?" Aidan said in surprise. He had been totally unaware of this little secret until now.

"Yes...he helps...the police...solve crimes...he's a consulting...detective..." David gasped out.

Aidan frowned briefly. A consulting detective? What in the hell was that? He'd never even heard of such an occupation...

"And what's Sherlock look like hmm?" Aidan said. He didn't fully believe David just yet. For all he knew, the old man could be setting him up to fail. And he wouldn't put it past him either.

"Tall...dark curly...hair...wears a blue...or red scarf...and a black trench...coat. He's light..skinned. Has silver...green eyes...Genius. Can't...miss...him..." David coughed.

"And if I happen to kill this Sherlock Holmes...you think Mycroft would reveal himself?" Aidan said.

He knew Mycroft would never come out into the open. After all, he operated best in the shadows, where no one could identify him.

David nodded his head. Aidan went over to the chair he pulled away from the dining table earlier, and slouched in it, thinking.

So, Mycroft had a brother. That was certainly a surprise. And a genius to boot. Hmm...he didn't know if Mycroft and his brother were close, but this was definitely a sure fire way of getting that asshole out into the open so he could put a bullet between his eyes...

Mind made up, Aidan got up and looked around the kitchen. He spotted a grocery bag poking out of a container that was hanging on the wall by a small hook. Grabbing the plastic bag, Aidan proceeded to rip it apart, wadding up the plastic he'd torn into a medium-sized ball.

He came up behind David, and grabbed his chin. He then pried open the man's mouth, hissing but ignoring the pain as the man bit him ruthlessly, drawing blood.

He stuffed the ball of plastic into David's mouth, massaging his throat as he did so. He watched dispassionately as his old mentor choked to death.

Grabbing the same bag, Aidan did the same procedure as before, only this time he went over to Annabelle. He undid the gag and stuffed the plastic ball into her mouth. She moaned, but didn't struggle nearly as much as her husband. Within seconds, she too, was dead.

He left the two where they were and made his way out of the mansion, being sure to use his clean hand wrapped in his t-shirt to open and close the balcony door he exited. Ignoring and outmaneuvering the patrols, Aidan Flynn left the mansion on Gregor Street and headed down a back alley.

It was time to track this Sherlock Holmes down...

It was 5:17 a.m. But first he needed some things...like a change of clothes and some different weapons...and then maybe a nap...


End file.
